


STATION

by kimbapeu_kidding



Category: Monsta X (Band)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Late Night Conversations, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-26
Updated: 2019-07-26
Packaged: 2020-07-20 10:00:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19990267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kimbapeu_kidding/pseuds/kimbapeu_kidding
Summary: sooner or later, you’ll have to part ways. and knowing that, it’s hard for you both to stay in the same place.





	STATION

**Author's Note:**

> the next one’s gonna be fluffy af, i swear. i feel like the reason wonho doesn’t want to get married has to do with circumstance, and not choice. but then again, what do i know about this man? except that he’s pretty and nice and inspires me to exercise. i’m still a young monbebe, it’s hard for me to write using their real names :’) this group has me whipped tho- and there’s a weird lot of hand holding and finger threading here ftw.

On the fifteenth floor, the last one, you lived, and even at that height, you never had found yourself face-to-face with the stars. **  
**

You dragged your nails over the lines that split each of his fingers into three.

Not glittering white, but the tiny pockets of light from each building outside could pass off as stars. Golden stars.

The room had gone blue with darkness, you felt his chest rise and fall against your back.

This window, a rectangle cut out from the wall, clear glass, now tainted by lively smudges, was what let you see.

_His fingers and yours, holding on to each other, unwilling to return to the hands they were part of._

Like land under snow, the bed had disappeared below the blanket, on which he sat with you between his outstretched legs.

The drops grew plumper, fell harder, upon reaching the pavement, they splintered into pieces, and you heard their pain. The roaring of the rain.

“I saw a marriage proposal on the street while coming back home”, Wonho said. His chin left the top of your head for a moment.

You found yourself reaching up, troubled, wanting to feel the end of his face buried in your hair again. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

Squeezing his palm, you shifted, gazing idly into the night. The sky, with its clouds, was on fire, smoking. And it was only when you got what you wanted, his arm pulling your body closer, did you finally speak.

“A moment of silence for them.”

He obviously didn’t care for it. You felt a beam of light, bursting through the clouds, land somewhere on your chest at the sound of his giggle. Heat, an explosion, jewelled sparks littered the place.

“Do you have something against marriage?”

Shook your head, “No”, and then, feeling his fingers dig into the skin of your palm, you sunk back into his chest.

“But there’s seven billion people in this world. Why will I spend my life with just one person?”

Behind your shoulder blade, his heart stopped. Missing the way it missed a beat, you went on:

“It’s so restricting, the whole concept. I don’t get it. Why bind yourself when you have legs to take you places and a mouth to make conversation?”

You were tracing the routes his veins followed, criss-crossing all over his wrist, when you felt him fall forward. His chin landing on the crook of your neck. You smiled, feeling full. _Warm._

“You also have a heart that’ll get tired of falling for a new person every other week”, he laughed breathily. And while it should’ve been nothing more than a passing comment, the lightest of jokes, as if in agreement, your chest suddenly ached. _Hot._

You shifted, your things brushing against his; they were clothed, cozy, and when that sweat drop hanging from the tip of your brow finally fell, the cotton absorbed it right away.

“Wonho, are you going to get married?”

He timed his reply- “No”- so by the time it came, you were already asking the next question.

“Why?”

His fingers loosened around yours, but didn’t take leave. They stayed there, still and cool inside your palm, like the water of a little lake.

“I have no reason. I didn’t choose this”, he spoke quietly, your heartbeat turned loud.

The rain had slowed to a drizzle now. You heard a thousand ants tap-dancing down below.

“Let’s just say, once upon a time, I _did_ want it. To get married to someone who hated the idea just as much as you did. Maybe even more.”

You wrapped your hand around his wrist. A harsh squeeze.

“What kind of person was she?”

“A train with no destination, she was like that”, he said without missing a beat, and you could only wonder. How many hours had he spent thinking about her?

“And I was only a station, but I didn’t know it then.”

 _Years_ , probably, had been spent, but you pushed that thought away the way you set his palm aside. Flexed your fingers. A cold nothingness was all that remained.

“That’s the thing about people who won’t settle. They have no idea where they’re going, but all they want is to keep going.”

You hated the way your voice had shrunk itself, so when the withered words spilled, they were carried out before he could hear it, by your breaths, mingled and hurried, through the keyhole on the locked door; you had to repeat yourself.

“Do you like those kind of people?”

A scoff. 

You heard him raising an eyebrow, “ _Do I like you_?”

He had re-phrased the question, put it in a way, so clear and so clean-cut like glass, it mirrored the doubt hiding inside your head. Right down to the rounded curve of the question-mark.

A deep breath, you took. Outside, the sky was crying no longer.

“Yes”, you said. “Yes”- another echo- “Do you like me?”

He scooped up your limp hand, caging it in his own.

“I do.”

You felt a blunt ache in your chest, released a breath.

“Do _you_?”

Shoulders stiffened, the two words had you tensing up again.

“I do”, you managed to say. 

Then it was ripping apart the white curtains of your mind, the image of someone. Like a rotten black fruit void of flesh, just the peel, she was. Faceless, hard, spoilt. She was the girl who had once fed hopes to the boy who had loved her. God knows what kind of poison, what brand of lies she had mixed in there, but whatever it had been, it left the boy now eternally damaged, permanently sick.

_You didn’t want to be that girl_. 

You tried again.

“I do,

….

but not enough to stay.”

The sky was a clean slate, clouds having retreated and the stars entirely gone. Just like his hand, from yours. Away from his chest, you pushed yourself forward. Lines erased. Knots untied. Nothing was said after that.

The both of you stared and stared, deep into a sleeping world, late into the night, like two strangers, each too terribly lost and unwary of the other, bound only by their inability to conceive a _forever_.


End file.
